


we are the wolves of this city

by dancingwiththewind (highfaenyx)



Category: Black Lagoon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, Gen, character study of a kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 06:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17575865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highfaenyx/pseuds/dancingwiththewind
Summary: Sometimes when I look into your eyes, I see a wolf. And I wonder how, how had I overlooked that when we first met?





	we are the wolves of this city

Sometimes I look into your eyes, when you think I am not watching; when you wake up in the bed we share in that small and load apartment of ours, and stare into the ceiling; when you are building yet another intrigue of yours you are so keen on lately, and I see your eyes reflecting a shade akin to boss Chang’s blackness, and that scares me.

Sometimes I look at the reflection of my eyes in the dirty mirror of our boat in the bay of Roanapurna, and I see Balalaika’s grin and a mad spark just on the edge of my pupils, and I am terrified.

 

This city has stripped us naked, you and me, to find out what - or who - hides under our human skin. If you survive, you wind up either empty or mad - that might be as well the first commandment of Roanapurna. And, well, madness just fills your emptiness, nothing more, nothing less.

But you are not dead. Neither alive; more _undead_ than anything.

 

We live by coffee, rum and vodka, maybe sake and porto - depends on which part of the city we spend the night in. We run gigs for Russians, Chinese, Latin - whoever pays the bill in the end of a day; we steal, we lie, we betray - others, simply because we have betrayed ourselves a long time ago.

We don’t call the thing between us _love_. We don’t confess; mostly, it is just you and me, tangled sheets and sparks in humid air, just enough to start a fire. Oh, you - you do it so well, and I burn.

I burn, and it is almost better than firing my guns, than a feeling of a shot reaching its target, than pools of red and blood stains on the walls, and that almost makes me want to never let go.

 

Sometimes the madness washes off me, and I find myself silently observing the havoc and destruction we call our lives - our _undeadlessness_. _What would my parents say_ , I think, a thought more suiting for an obedient girl from a christian family I would have been in another life. But my parents are dead, and I am _undead_ , alive despite all efforts that my numerous enemies made, and I am a survivor.

I hate these moments - because of countless _what ifs_ ; because in another life a New York policeman’s daughter would become a detective, and a younger son of a Japanese family - an obedient servant of a mogul corporation, and their paths would have never crossed.

The dreams of that life become nightmares for me, and then turn into dreams again; too stupid, too comfortable, too mundane for gruesome creatures that hide under our skin no more.

Madness envelopes me as a cocoon, and I welcome it, my warm, sharp and painful mask that has long fused with my skin.

 

Sometimes when I look into your eyes, I see a wolf. And I wonder how, how had I overlooked that when we first met?

Because, sometimes, when I look in the reflection of my eyes on the glossy handles of my loyal pistols, I see a wolf, too.

And as you kiss me, biting my lip, I snarl, but pull you closer - in this godforsaken city, of all things, this one makes us feel almost alive again.

And maybe, though this is not _love_ , it is also so, so much more.

For there are no more wolves in this city - just you and me.

**Author's Note:**

> Revy and Rock, beautiful, heart(less) residents of the hell on Earth they call Roanapurna - this is for you.


End file.
